figure than Betty Grable.”
“Betty
? Weeping on Wednesday ?
Forty-Four
Edward Abraham was looking for a chemist. In his new guise, he strode along, head held high, smiling to himself and seeing miraculously more clearly through Donald’s spectacles. He was quite unrecognizable, he was sure of that. He even
“Afternoon!” he said, passing an old newspaper seller, who was offering papers with Edward’s photograph emblazoned on the front page. The seller nodded at him without a second glance. Wonderful! He walked into a small supermarket and picked up supplies for Enid. Now for a chemist to find some pills for Father. He was sure Enid had been exaggerating, trying to worry him about the state of their father’s health. He was clearly better, and after a day’s recuperation would, Edward was convinced, be as good as new. The change of scene would do him good. Still, better humour Enid for the moment.
He walked on down Nicholson Street, and saw a green cross sign coming up. That would do. As he walked into the light, airy chemists, it seemed familiar. Had he been here before? Certainly not this visit. Then it came to him: this was where Enid had worked. Everything had changed, of course; a completely new interior, but the general layout was the same, and a panel of coloured glass over the door had survived. Ah, yes, and there was the huge bottle filled with bright blue liquid that had stood in the window for as long as he could remember. He was the only customer, and a woman assistant had perched herself on a stool in the corner, leafing through a newspaper.
He stopped to look around, and muttered to himself, “Well, bless me…”
“Excuse me?” said the assistant, coming forward. “Can I help you?”
Edward smiled at her. He dared to do that now! Perhaps he would mooch around a bit, indulging in memories. “In a minute, thanks very much,” he said. “Just looking around. I used to come in here in the old days. It’s changed a bit!”
“Yes, well…” The woman lost interest. She had thought she knew him from somewhere, school, maybe. But he was too old to have been at school with her. He was drifting about the shop now, picking up things and putting them down again. One of those. Still, what was it to her if a couple of packets went missing? She wandered back to her stool and picked up the newspaper again. She turned the page, and a face stared out at her. She frowned, and looked up to where Edward had picked up a small hand mirror and was looking admiringly at himself.
He caught her eye.
He turned and saw the newspaper and her startled expression. In a second, he was out of the shop and running.
“Mr Gordon!” The woman rushed out to the office at the back of the shop. “Look, here…this photo! He’s just been in the shop…honest, it was him!”
The manager took the paper from her and stared. “Are you sure?” he said, but he knew the woman was reliable, not one of the mbberty young ones. He picked up his telephone and dialled. “Hello? Police?”
Edward, out of breath and slowing down, found himself approaching Forrest Road, and calmed down sufficiently to give a quick pat to Greyfriars Bobby on his doggy plinth. No harm done, he reassured himself. The chemist woman was probably thinking of something else entirely. He ambled along George IV Bridge and turned left into Lawnmarket. Nearly home. Home? His mood darkened again. They were more or less homeless now. They could never go back to Cathanger, but this did not worry Edward. He hated the place, just as his mother had hated it. But then, she was full of hate.
Hatred of his father, of Enid, of anyone who tried to help her…Still, the three of them would make a life in Scotland somewhere. Enid was good at homemaking.
As he went through the little arched passage leading to the courtyard and the flat, he stood aside to allow a couple to pass. “Thanks,” said the woman. “Lovely day.” He kept his head down and grunted. Musn’t make the same mistake again. He was still a wanted man, however good his disguise. He walked through the passage and into the door of their building.
“That was the bloke from the flat opposite,” said the Midlands woman to her husband. “Now I’ve seen him up close, he is very like the other one, except not so hairy.”
“Really!” exploded her husband. “Don’t you ever listen to anything I say?”
¦
Enid took the ham, lettuce, tomatoes, and fruit. “And the painkillers for Father?”
Edward waved the question aside. “Doesn’t need them now, surely,” he said. “Seems a lot better.”
He was pleased with himself, thought Enid suspiciously. But not quite so jaunty as before. What had happened out there on the streets? She was beginning to feel claustrophobic, shut up in these small rooms. She could see out of the window that the sun was still shining, and tourists wandered slowly in and out of the courtyard, visiting a museum in an ancient building across the way.
She prepared the salad, and Edward helped his father to the table. There was no doubt the old man was a lot stronger, and Enid was encouraged. This suited her plan. She could not have carried it out if Father had been ill and bedridden. The time Edward was out shopping had not been wasted. She’d found a current railway timetable shoved in amongst cookery books in the kitchen, and rejoiced.
After their meal, Father sat in an armchair and dozed off. Enid and Edward sat at the table, drinking coffee. Edward had taken a book of old photographs of Edinburgh out of the shelves, and was leafing idly through it.
Might as well forget the sunshine, Enid told herself. When she went out, it would be in the dark, preferably with just enough light for her to see where she was going. It would be difficult with Father, but they would manage. Meanwhile, she must keep her mind empty, in case Edward tuned in to her thoughts. Conversation, then, about ordinary things.
“Where else did you go, when you were out?” she asked.
He pushed his chair back suddenly. “Nowhere much,” he said casually. “I’ll help you wash up,” he added, and picked up their coffee mugs.
As she washed the plates, stacking them on the draining board for Edward to dry, Enid risked starting a conversation on a more dangerous topic. “Um, I was wondering,” she said, “whether Mother sent a message for me at all?”
She could almost feel the temperature drop, and Edward’s reply was icy. “No message for you, Enid,” he said. “Concerned only with herself.”
Enid was silent, hoping he would continue. She was desperate to know how he had been driven to such violence against his chief champion, the one who had blindly adored him all his life.
“I’d like to think,” he said eventually, after minutes ticked by, “that senility was settling in. Making her worse in every way. Exaggerating her bad points. It does, you know, Enid,” he added, looking at her closely, as if needing her agreement.
She obediently nodded. “I know,” she said, and scrubbed round a dish that was already very clean.
“I couldn’t stand it,” he went on. “All the recriminations if I didn’t see her every day to bring her flowers and swear undying love. And then, when I stayed away, she stored it all up and was hysterical the times I did call in.”
“What times? Where were you, Edward? I never saw you coming and going…”
He grinned, a sudden flash of the old, invincible Edward. “Of course you didn’t,” he said. “I made sure you were out of the way, doing your extraordinary cleaning jobs. My hiding places were many and various, I can tell you!”
“So how did you persuade her to go into the nursing home?” Enid said.
His eyes changed, the guarded look returning. “Father did most of it,” he said. “He was very firm, just like the old father we remember. That voice that had to be obeyed. I helped her dress in her best, and then she got quite girlish and demanded lipstick and a comb. Went off without a backward glance, Enid. The confirmed recluse! Makes you wonder, doesn’t it.” He hung the drying-up cloth on its hook, and turned to smile at her, quite fond again.
